The blank page can be a scary place. The first mark, we think, can commit us to the wrong direction. We worry that course correction will be impossible.
But what is it that we truly fear? Emptiness or the unknown? No direction or a new direction? I know which one I fear and which one I blame.
When I sit down to write, I only occasionally have a topic in mind. Usually, there’s an amorphous blob of emotions tangled up with facts. Have you ever tried untangling a necklace? It’s delicate work. You don’t think you’re making progress until poof, it magically comes free and it’s as if nothing happened in the first place.
The difference with writing is that the untangling has a good chance of transforming the metaphorical necklace. What you thought you had either wasn’t ever what you thought or it turned into something new. And when it did, the world (your world) changed ever so slightly. But I digress.
What I fear is that writing will reveal that I have an unexamined flaw in my thinking and/or that it will change who I am… again. I blame the blank page for this: for providing the space and offering no boundaries for my exploration.
It’s time to stop assigning blame and to take responsibility for my part in the process. The blank page is inherently empty. I am responsible for bringing the boundaries—the framework—that will help me untangle and shape that amorphous blob. I am responsible for staying focused on one amorphous blob at a time. I am responsible for facing the fear of the unknown with courage and armed with the right tool(s) for the job.